"

The Indian shook his head. Menard stood thinking for an instant.

"If you are thinking of me, M'sieu, I think I can swim with you," said
the maid, timidly.

"There is no other way, Mademoiselle. I am sorry. But we will make it
as easy as we can."

He stepped to the rear wall, and with a blow of his fist would have
broken an opening through the rotted bank, but the Indian caught his
arm.

"It is not necessary. See." He set rapidly to work, and in a few
silent moments he had unlaced the thread-like root that held the sheet
of bark in place, and lowered it to the ground. He raised himself by
the cross-pole that marked the top of the wall, and slipped through
the opening. A few quick glances through the trees, and he turned and
beckoned. Menard followed, with the knife of the Long Arrow between
his teeth; and with Father Claude's help the maid got through to where
he could catch her and lower her to the ground.

The Indian made a cautious gesture and crept slowly through the
yielding bushes. One by one they followed, the Captain lingering until
the maid was close to him and he could whisper to her to keep her
courage. They paused at the bank of the lake. The water lay sparkling
in the moonlight. Menard looked grimly out; this light added to the
danger. He found a short log close at hand and carried it to the
water.

"Come, Mademoiselle," he whispered, "and Father Claude. This will
support you. Teganouan and I will swim. Keep low in the water, and do
not splash or speak. The slightest noise will travel far across the
lake."

Slowly they waded out, dropping into the water before it was waist
deep. Teganouan's powder-horn and musket lay on the log, and the maid
herself steadied it so that they should not be lost.

CHAPTER XVII.

NORTHWARD.

Weak and chilled from the long swim through the cold water they
dragged themselves across the narrow beach to the bushes that hung
over the bank. Menard and Father Claude supported the maid, who was
trembling and clinging to them. At the bank she sank to the ground.

"It is hard, Mademoiselle, but we must not stop. It is better to be
weary than to rest in this condition. It would mean sickness."

"Yes," she said; "I know. In a moment I can go on." She looked up and
tried to smile. "It is so cold, M'sieu."

Menard turned to Teganouan.

"How far is it to the villages of the Cayugas?"

"Not far. Half a sleep."

"Is there a trail?"

"The trail is far. It pas